


In the Covert of thy Wings

by MercurySkies



Series: Kingdom Come [4]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Era, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 09:29:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5158730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercurySkies/pseuds/MercurySkies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fog has covered the area for days and the jewel like colour of the grass is dulled by the grey, almost smoke like shroud that drapes the ground like the veil of a mourning widow. The autumn sunset burns through the deathlike haze however, and sets the burnished, falling leaves of the surrounding trees ablaze with its light. Merlin walks amongst it all, powering ahead until he reaches the stream’s edge.</p><p>Magical maladies are hard to fix but sometimes all that is needed is a little light.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Covert of thy Wings

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Psalm 61:1-4.

Arthur worries in silence. He has never been good with words so agonises over his anxieties in the quiet of night, losing sleep. Merlin is much more forthcoming, eyebrows knitting together in concern as Arthur greets him tiredly in the morning, shadows marring the skin beneath his eyes. He places a cold hand on his cheek and another in his hair and stares. What Merlin sees looking at Arthur is mirrored in what Arthur can see when he looks back. He wants to lean back out of Merlin’s reach, yell at him, ask him why he has the nerve to show so much concern when Merlin looks on the brink of fainting. But he doesn't, it would do neither of them any good. Arthur had to trust that Merlin knew when he needed Arthur.

 

“A restless night's sleep” Is all he replies with and Merlin looks at him with sympathy. He steps back to rummage in the pockets of the deep blue robes he takes to wearing in the colder months and produces a small vial. “Drink this. It has chamomile amongst other things. It’ll put you in a better humour, relax you. You’ll be out like a light as soon as your head hits the pillow tonight.”

“Now?” Arthur asks, eyeing the liquid dubiously, turning over the glass bottle in his hand.

“Yep. It was made by my own fair hands, I swear by it.” Merlin’s eyes are bright and furtive and he blinks much too slowly. He doesn't relax until he has seen Arthur down the vial’s entire contents, letting out an almost imperceptible sigh of relief. “Happy?” Arthur asks with a smirk. Merlin nods and smiles, swooping forward to kiss him fleetingly on the mouth.

“I have to round up the children for their lessons.” He says quietly but he looks as though he’d rather stay right where he is.

 

“Help me dress?” Arthur asks absolutely refusing to be bashful. Merlin softens at the request and he stands a little straighter. He helps Arthur out of his sleep shirt, the movement ruffling his hair. He huffs out a quiet laugh and Merlin straightens it with nimble fingers and a gentle smile. They take their time, it’s still early and the citadel is barely awake. They know they might not see each other again until the next morning.

 

Merlin folds everything carefully before making his way toward the closet, taking out the garments with practised ease. Merlin hands him his undergarments and trousers but helps him into the tunic and jacket. The soft cotton against his skin is delightful but he enjoys the touch of Merlin’s skittish fingertips to his collarbones, revels in the sweep of them across his chest as he laces it. His touch lingers as he adjust the fabric so it sits right on Arthur’s shoulders, he is always gentle as if his touch is an indulgence, as if he’s doing something he isn't sure he should be allowed to do. He helps Arthur pull on the crimson, velveteen jacket, elegant hands fiddling with the collar and the golden clasps on the simple, quilted brocade. Arthur likes watching him, the flutter of dark lashes as his eyes are lowered and trained on his task, the light blush that blooms high on his cheeks when his hands come to rest on Arthur’s sides.

 

He looks up and smiles, satisfied with his handiwork. “Is there a special occasion I don’t know about?” Arthur asks with a smirk, gesturing to the jacket. It’s a favourite of Merlin’s and Arthur has known it ever since Merlin had told him so. During a feast, in a darkened corner of the great hall, they had stood close, Merlin staring at his shoes as he whispered to him about how broad his shoulders looked in it, how he liked how it was soft to the touch and a regal Pendragon red. “Does a King need occasion to be well dressed?” Merlin shoots back as Arthur’s arms wrap around his waist. Merlin glances over Arthur’s shoulder toward the window.

 

“I have to go.” He says sadly and extricates himself from Arthur’s hold slowly. “I’ll see you at the council meeting this afternoon.” He smiles feebly and Arthur nods, watching intently as Merlin grips tightly to the door frame as he leaves his chambers.

 

* * *

 

Arthur grits his teeth as he watches Merlin, the last to arrive to the meeting, walking haltingly into the great hall. There's something wrong. Arthur can see it in the way his shoulders are tight and rolled back, posture straight as opposed to his usual relaxed gait. As he draws closer to his seat next to Arthur he can clearly see gold sparking anxiously amongst the blue of his irises. He smiles but his grip is tight on the back of his chair as he addresses him.

 

"Apologies for my lateness everyone, spot of trouble with the children. Didn't think it wise to leave them to their own devices when Nathaniel was close to burning half an acre of birch." He smiles fondly, settling into his seat with a sigh once directed to by a nod from Arthur. "That boy's a menace." A council member grumbles. Merlin stares at him, eyes sharp as the bird of his namesake, bright with gold. "This boy is a menace." He remarks, gesturing to himself as Arthur tries valiantly to stifle his laughter. "Why when I was his age I flattened a small wood just beyond the hayfields about 3 miles from Ealdor." He pauses daring the man to voice his objection but all he does is scowl. "Do you want to know why?"

Arthur knew why. "Merlin you don't have anything to prove." Arthur says softly, a gentle hand on Merlin's forearm. "You're right but it's my duty to make this council understand things that have been clear to me since I was a child."

 

"I walked those three miles by myself at seven years old. I’d found a cat, so malnourished that she had died giving birth to her litter. They were dying too, underfed, cold and wet in the harsh winter, a few had injuries taken as easy prey for other predators that had found them."

"I was so upset, they looked as helpless as I felt so I saved them, mended their bones and gave them warmth with magic. I gathered them up in my arms and ran home, screamed for my mother as I approached home, elated that my gift had been able to help."

"The next day the kittens were gone and no one would look at me. I begged my mum to tell me but she just looked angry and said they'd been taken to find new homes."

"The whole day I was tripped, glared at, at one point even spat at as I went about my chores"

"They'd heard me shouting to my mother. And they hated me, all because I'd used magic. Magic wasn’t even illegal in Ealdor. It didn't matter what I'd used it for, that I was a child. A woman even told me that I deserved to burn. I was seven."

"So I ran and ran until I couldn't anymore and I ran into those woods and screamed and cried until when I opened my eyes I saw the darkening sky and not the canopy of bare branches. That was the worst of it, there was a village meeting and my mother was ready to fight anyone that dared to hurt me like that again. But they were never kind and as soon as I was of age I was sent here in the hopes that my gift could find a purpose and be better disguised amongst the masses."

 

"Nathaniel is not a menace. He’s just a child, a scared and confused child who has been through more than any child should. So forgive me if I would like to spend more time showing him kindness than listening to your ignorance."

"How dare-" the man begins in indignation his face an unsightly shade of red.

"Enough." Arthur interrupts raising a hand "I do not wish to offend you Lord Harrington but you have spoken ignorantly. We all have much to learn about the magical people of this land and the effects of the past and my father's misconceptions of these people still linger in the consciousness of all non-magical people in Camelot. That is why Merlin is here, he has dedicated almost five years of his life to the betterment of the lives of not just magic users but everyone. He has done his utmost to advocate for education and equality. If I feel that his work is not being valued by any member of this council then a serious discussion will have to be had where you can explain why you think compassion and equality are not viable causes for a member of the round table." Arthur looks around the table making sure to look every member of the council in the eye before resuming his seat.

 

“Your report Merlin?” Arthur says raising an eyebrow at him in an attempt to restore some normalcy to the meeting. Merlin continues for several minutes, reporting on the general state of magic in the citadel and beyond. When he’s finished he sits again, back painfully straight and unmoving. It’s not until the last of the lords have filed out that he seems to deflate, colour draining from his face, his hands beginning to shake where he grips the edge of the table, fingers white knuckled. “Merlin!” Gods Merlin are you alright?” Arthur exclaims kneeling on the floor to better look at him. Merlin blinks slowly and swallows “I-um, just a little nauseous, all that yelling at Lord Harrington has probably taken the wind out of me.” Gold eyes meet Arthur’s and Merlin tries to smile but the hollowness of it is unnerving. Arthur goes to brush the hair from Merlin’s forehead and finds it damp and scorching. “Merlin you’re burning up, I’m calling for the physician.”

“No I’m fine I’ll-” He stands to leave but his eyes slide suddenly out of focus and he sways on the spot. “I’ll-” his voice fades out of existence as everything else fades into darkness.

 

* * *

 

Merlin wakes up in Arthur’s bed with little recollection of how he got there that went beyond passing out at the round table. From the dim light filtering through the hastily closed drapes he can see Arthur and the court physician bustling around the room. “Merlin.” Arthur breathes, finally noticing he’s awake as he stuffs a travelling cloak into a leather satchel. “Where are you going?” He rasps out, suppressing a shiver. Now that he’s awake the buzz is beginning to resurface from beneath his skin, prickling like hot needles. “We, are going to see the Druids.” Arthur says firmly, sitting on the edge of the bed and stroking a hand down the soft cotton covering Merlin’s shoulder. “Why? Is something wrong? Just let me go you’re needed here.”

“Merlin. Merlin! No there’s nothing wrong with the Druids but well, maybe it’s better for Alistair to explain.”

 

As Arthur speaks, Alistair who has taken on the role of court physician since Gaius’ retirement, stops packing tinctures to approach them. “Merlin, we've arranged for yourself and his majesty to stay with the Druids for a few days. You’re very unwell and it’s clear that this is no malady I've come across before, magical or otherwise. We thought it best that you go to someone who will be able to diagnose and treat you properly.”

“I've been doing just fine on my own. It’s just a fever I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Stop Merlin.”

“Stop what? We can’t just swan off to see the Druids because of a fever I-”

“Merlin!” Arthur bellows, standing abruptly “Just stop Merlin stop. Stop pretending everything's okay. Why are you doing this? Pretending that you’re fine when you crumble a little more each day.”

“I’m crumbling am I? I am not weak, I am not- I spent years- I’m not helpless, useless-”

 

Merlin scrunches his eyes shut and the window blows out, screams filling the air as shattered glass falls to the ground. The fire roars in the grate threatening to erupt from it and burn the castle to the ground. He can’t breathe, he opens his eyes but he can see nothing but a searing painful light, for the briefest moment it feels as if his very soul is flying apart. He can hear Arthur’s voice though, calling his name, anchoring him to the here and now with his voice, with shaking fingers on his face and skittering through his hair. “You are none of those things.” He can hear him repeating over and over, “You are strength and light and goodness.”

 

Merlin doesn't know how long it takes for him to return to himself but when he does he is swaddled in blankets and confronted with Arthur’s earnest and anguished face. “You are not weak. You are exhausted and out of equilibrium. We’ll ride for the encampment at noon, rest now.” He kisses him briefly on the forehead and sweeps out of the room. Alistair pats him on the knee before returning to pack their supplies.

 

* * *

 

Merlin leans heavily on Arthur as they make their way into the druid camp. They’re both immediately ushered into a tent at the centre of the hodgepodge of tent like dwellings. Merlin looks as disgruntled as he possibly can in his condition, batting away people’s hands and grumbling in modesty every time someone refers to him as Emrys.

 

“Emrys.” A Druid boy says as he enters. Merlin groans loudly and wipes a hand over his face in despair. Arthur tries to look reproachful but Merlin is pale and slumped by the hearth and worry and fear wins out. "Yes?" He prompts the Druid boy.

"I know you both must be very tired but preparations for Emrys’ commune need to begin immediately." Merlin immediately starts to stand and Arthur rushes to help him but the boy stops them. “Please don’t get up, we’ll come to you. The preparations are simple and you’ll need all your energy in the vale later.” Merlin nods and sits back down smiling in thanks as the boy bows and makes his way back out into the misty afternoon sun.

 

“So what exactly is happening?” Arthur implores, sitting close and taking one of Merlin’s pale hands in his, tracing the vivid blue veins under skin that seems as delicate as a butterfly’s wing. “I don’t know the fine details but I expect I’ll be doing something similar to a ritual that's referred to as the return.”

“The return?” Arthur asks as a stream of druid men and women enter the tent carrying garlands of oak and hazel as well as what looks like bright blue porridge. A wizened old woman answers him “A return to nature, a reconnection to the earth from which handsome here and all of us came from, of which he is an essential part.” She looks a bright and mischievous woman and she places a tender hand on the crown of Merlin’s head. The look he gives her in return is thankful and fond. Merlin blushes then, as the woman says something quiet enough so that Arthur can’t hear.

 

Merlin smiles when Arthur looks at him quizzically. “She says that the application of body paint of various symbols is a traditional rite before the return.”

“That doesn't explain why you've got more colour in your cheeks than I've seen this whole past week.” Arthur shoots back, eyes fixed on Merlin’s elegant fingers as they unclasp the cloak from around his shoulders and begin to untie the laces of his tunic. “She um- she asked whether you’d like to watch or if you wanted to be a, her words not mine, active participant.” They dissolve into semi-scandalised laughter and the old woman winks at them as the druids gather nearer, exchanging honeyed milk, bread and fruits of the season. Everything is warm and vibrant and joyful. For the first time in weeks there is hope and Arthur suspects it is that and being surrounded by these compassionate people that has already begun to make Merlin look a little healthier, bathed in the glow that only kindness and acceptance can bring out in a person. It is as much a celebration as it is a healing ritual, and they are treated more like family than a king and a sorcerer. Merlin shows no shyness when several members of the group start to paint intricate lines and shapes across his torso. They explain as best they can to Arthur what they mean. They seem so offended by the idea that Arthur might feel excluded or out of place that they, along with Merlin, draw along his forearms and collarbones with the same blue substance. Merlin can’t resist smearing some onto Arthur’s nose. In retaliation Arthur kisses him, smearing blue pigment across his cheeks with his thumbs.

 

There are a few cheers and a smatter of laughter but when Arthur pulls back all he sees is Merlin, how he’s come to like to see him best, with bright eyes and a smile so wide it makes them crinkle at the corners. “It looks as though there might be another occasion to bring out the pigment soon.” The old woman says as she sits beside them, sweeping raven hair from Merlin’s forehead as she passes him a bowl of blackberries. “Stop Branwen.” He admonishes fondly and Merlin has to explain that the only other time body painting of that kind happens is before marriage ceremonies and handfastings.

 

* * *

 

As the sun begins to set, Merlin is lead away to the vale, following behind is Arthur and a small group of druid elders who have to watch the proceedings from afar. Arthur has no idea what is going to happen but he realises that this is Merlin’s domain and takes his cues from him, walking calmly behind him carrying a heavy robe of brilliant midnight blue silk gifted to the esteemed ‘Emrys’. They descend into the valley, carved deep into the face of the landscape by a clear stream that’s probably shaped the land for hundreds of years. Fog has covered the area for days and the jewel like colour of the grass is dulled by the grey, almost smoke like shroud that drapes the ground like the veil of a mourning widow. The autumn sunset burns through the deathlike haze however, and sets the burnished, falling leaves of the surrounding trees ablaze with its light. Merlin walks amongst it all, powering ahead until he reaches the stream’s edge. He sits down on the damp grass and closes his eyes.

 

From his new vantage point further downstream Arthur can barely see Merlin. He’s but a vague shape in the distance becoming clearer and again less distinct as the breeze stirs the fog and it clings to him like wet fabric. His vision blurs as he blinks against the barrier of fog, habituating to the bleak and unchanging image of Merlin in front of him.

 

He stands for what seems like hours before he notices any change. Slowly and dimly at first Merlin lights up, seemingly from within. It’s subtle, so much so that he can scarcely believe at first what he’s seeing. But then Merlin gets brighter, the light pushing away the fog so he can finally be seen clearly, eyes open and looking up at the orange sky as his hands are pressed to the ground. The light coalesces like shimmering fire, like the fog and clouds themselves are catching alight, flaring, caressing and searing Merlin’s being gold. Crack, and the ground beneath his feet feels like its trembling, he looks down as if he’ll see its movement but when he looks up he has to shield his eyes. The light is chasing the lines of the painted symbols on Merlin’s torso and arms, gilding his skin until there’s nowhere for it to go but outwards. It crawls from his skin and out onto the surface of the surrounding ground, travelling like forks of lightening out into the earth. It travels toward Arthur and he can feel it all encompassing, an echo of the warmth and euphoria Merlin can feel, that fuels the earth’s equilibrium.

  
Silently, reluctantly the light recedes, rushing back into Merlin, the epicentre of it all. Everything is still and Arthur can hear the sound of his own heart beat. Merlin stands unsteadily and then runs to him, tripping and stumbling, clumsy, juxtaposing the ethereal glow that still clings to him like a second skin. Arthur meets him halfway and wraps him up in the silk robe. Merlin is shaking but his smile is wide his cheeks flushed. Arthur’s skin buzzes where Merlin’s fingers thread into the hair at the nape of his neck and he bring his forehead to rest against his. “How do you feel?” Arthur asks mirroring Merlin’s elated expression, his hands slipping on the smooth silk as he tries to touch him wherever he can reach. Merlin kisses him hard and off centre. “Alive.”


End file.
